


Elementary

by Friday_25



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Pining, post-coe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friday_25/pseuds/Friday_25
Summary: Strike impresses Robin with his powers of observation.





	1. Chapter 1

'You've got a date,' said Strike, setting down a cup of tea on Robin's desk. It was a statement, not a question.

Robin looked up sharply from her computer screen. 'How did you..?'

'I'm a detective, Robin,' Strike replied, leaning back against her desk and quirking his eyebrows smugly at her as he took a sip from his own mug.

'Come on, tell me.'

They often played this game. One of them- usually Cormoran- would come out with something- some fact they had figured out without being told (Robin called this 'Sherlocking'), and the other would try to work out how they had guessed. It seemed to be an unofficial part of Robin's detective training. Strike would startle her by making these pronouncements at seemingly random moments, though sometimes she thought she could tell one was coming: she would notice he seemed to be watching her more closely than usual, or he might take on a quiet and pensive mood after conversation had passed between them.

 So far Cormoran had correctly identified Robin's grandmother's birthday, guessed that she was trying to teach herself to knit, and worked out when she was due her period. While initially mortifying, the latter revelation had at least resulted in him making sure the biscuit tin was well-stocked with chocolate bars when they were needed most. Robin, on the other hand, found Strike much harder to read. She had succeeded once: flabbergasting him by casually stating, as she handed him his post, that he had lost his virginity at the age of sixteen. Despite his pressing, she had refused to reveal how she had reached her conclusion, only smiling triumphantly before returning to her desk. In truth, it had been a complete stab in the dark.

'Not going to guess?' Strike asked now, his mouth twitching up at one corner.

Robin suddenly felt quite self-conscious: How had she given herself away? She folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair, defeated. 'I can't see how you could possibly- no. No idea.'

'Well for a start you turned down my invitation earlier when I suggested a drink after work,' Strike said, pretending to look a little hurt by her rejection. His twinkling eyes gave him away.

'We can't go to the pub every night, Cormoran.'

'Yeah, but it's Friday. We always go to the Tottenham on Friday night,' he pointed out.

'We don't  _always-_ ' Robin stopped talking and shut her mouth, tilting her head to the side slightly. Now she thought about it, they  _had_  been out for a drink every Friday since- well, she supposed it had been going on at least for the last couple of months, if not longer.

  
'Oh. You're right,' she admitted. 'I could have been going out with a  _friend_ , though!' This time it was Robin's turn to fake offence: Cormoran was her only real friend in London, and she knew that he knew it.

'Yeah, right,' he teased, and they both laughed, Robin shoving him jovially so that he almost spilled his tea, though he maintained his perch on her desk.

'Come on then, what else?' Robin knew there would be more. He seemed to enjoy showing off his powers of observation, listing her many "obvious" tells which apparently made it so easy for him to figure her out. He was, she had to admit, remarkably good.

Strike drained the dregs of his tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. 'Well, you've got your hair up.'

'What?' Robin felt herself blush a little, one hand automatically moving to the back of her head, where her bright blonde hair was pinned up in a heap of elegant curls.

Strike shrugged. 'You never wear your hair up in the office,' he said, simply.

Strike liked this game. He liked having an excuse to look at Robin, to think about her. If he was truly honest with himself- which he usually was, not being the type of man to tell himself comfortable lies- he knew it impressed her, and he liked that, too. He was not thrilled with the idea of her going on a date, but what business was it of his, really? It might even make things easier- as long as she did not end up with another Matthew- given that he could not foresee a time in the future when it would be right to reveal his own feelings for her. He preferred, generally, not to acknowledge these feelings at all.

He carried on. 'You've been checking the time every ten minutes for the last hour: you're meeting him after work. You've got your big handbag today, which means you've brought a change of clothes. He must be taking your somewhere pretty fancy, then.'

'You reckon?' Robin's voice was light and playful, and she leaned forward onto her desk, resting her chin in her hands, listening attentively.

'Yeah well, you already look-' he caught himself- 'I mean, what you're wearing for work would be fine for, you know, dinner or the cinema or something.'

'He's taking me to the  _ballet_ after dinner,' said Robin, frowning a little, her tone conveying half awe, half distaste. 'Do you think that's a bit...much?'

'It is for a first date, which this is, isn't it?' Strike said, and chuckled at the look on her face as he surprised her yet again.

She gave a little growl of frustration. 'How do you  _do_  that?'

'You've seemed a bit nervous all afternoon,' he explained. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, looking thoughtful, then added slyly: 'Kind of the way you were when your mum came to the office. Were you worried I would embarrass you?'

 _'You?_ God no, it was definitely the other way around.' Robin put her face in her hands, and gave a muffled little giggle.

'I liked her,' said Cormoran truthfully, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

'Well, she liked you too.' There was a brief pause.

'So come on then, what's Ballet Boy like?' Strike asked, smirking. 'What is he- an investment banker? No, no, a PR manager?'

Robin rolled her eyes. 'He's an IT consultant,' she said - Strike snorted- 'and he seems...nice enough.'

'Sounds like a catch,' was all Strike trusted himself to say. Robin seemed to know what he meant, though. She groaned and folded her arms on the desk, hanging her head.

'I don't even think I really want to go,' she confessed. 'People keep telling me I should "get back out there" and my housemate convinced me to try online dating. God, the internet is a  _weird_ place.'

'I think you knew that already,' Strike pointed out, thinking of the bizarre chat rooms Robin had explored during their hunt for the Shacklewell Ripper. 'So why are you going?'

'To be honest?' Robin lifted her head and looked up at him a little sheepishly. 'I was kind of glad to have an excuse to wear this.' And she reached down and drew from the bag under her desk a long swathe of green fabric.

Strike recognised it instantly as the designer dress he had bought her after they closed their first case. No mention of the gift had been made between them since that day. He felt a flush creep up his neck at the sight of it, his heart thumping a little harder than before.

It had been a ridiculously expensive present for someone he had known only a few weeks. To this day he regretted the giving of it, which he was sure revealed much more about the depth of his feelings than he was comfortable with Robin knowing. Until seeing her in that dress, he had never fully appreciated the meaning of the word "breath-taking." He had just wanted her to have it. But he would not have done it had he known that she would end up staying on as his assistant, his embarrassingly over-the-top gesture constantly hovering between them.

Strike cleared his throat, which felt a little tight. 'You've never worn it?'

She was smoothing the dress out on her lap, her hands running over the fabric with great reverence. 'Matthew was a bit funny about it,' she admitted, not looking at Strike. 'Plus, it's too nice to wear just anywhere. I haven't had a wedding or anything like that to go to.'

'Waste of bloody money then, wasn't it?' Strike joked, trying to cover the awkwardness he was feeling.

'If you want to get your money's worth, maybe you should take me out,' Robin countered, causing Strike to experience a lurch behind his navel. 'I think I'm going to pass on the ballet after all.'   
She sighed a little sadly, holding the dress up in front of her, then her face brightened and she looked over at him. 'What do you say?'

Strike was gaping at her, stunned. 'Um, really?' He wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

Robin grinned back at him. 'Yeah! You can go and get your suit on; I can change down here.' She looked suddenly quite excited at the prospect of swapping her boring date for a night out with him. He felt oddly gratified, though he tried to convince himself she was just pleased have a chance to get dressed up.

'But,' he said, confused, 'where would we go?' He could not think of anywhere he could afford to take her at a moment's notice that might be suitable for such a stunning outfit.

'Well,' Robin replied, 'it's Friday.' She looked at her watch- it was five o'clock. 'Pub?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all love the Green Dress, don't we? It wasn't in my head when I first came up with this little scene but I like where this went. Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> P.S. Please help I am addicted to fan-fiction


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Cormoran get dressed up for an impromptu evening out.

Strike appraised his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He had not worn his navy suit since Robin’s ill-fated wedding, having acquired a less expensive black one which served him equally for court appearances and funerals, as well as allowing him to look official where necessary, or to blend in at a variety of social functions. But if there was ever a time to bring the fine Italian suit out of retirement, surely it was now. He was pleased to see that it still fitted remarkably well, and reflected that he didn’t look half bad.   
Thinking of Robin in the office below, slipping into a dress that had cost more than twice her monthly salary, he resolved to at least drag a razor over his face before heading down to join her.

Clumsily fastening his only tie- a grey-blue silk one that had been a Christmas gift from Lucy- Strike made his way back down the steps towards the office. He stopped when he reached the door and tapped quietly on the glass.

‘Come in!’ came Robin’s voice from within.

Strike had to steel himself before moving inside. Previously, he had seen Robin in the green dress for only a few moments, and that was over a year ago. Nonetheless, the vision of her wearing it was firmly planted in his mind. It occasionally bloomed before his eyes in quiet moments when he was alone and exhausted, unable to resist. More frequently, the image appeared in his dreams. Every time Strike laid eyes on Robin, he was struck by how much better-looking she was in the flesh than the image of her he kept in his head. He dreaded to think, therefore, what effect she might have on him now.

When he entered, she was standing in front of her desk with her back to him, and as he watched she bent down to adjust the fastening on her gold, high-heeled sandals. Her large handbag was open on the floor at her feet, her work clothes having been stuffed inside.

Strike was unable to prevent himself from glancing at her backside before she straightened up to smooth down the sleek fabric of the dress. He just had time to wonder treacherously what - if any - underwear she had on underneath, before she spoke again.

‘Can you do me up?’ She asked brightly, looking over her shoulder to where he stood by the door.

He could see now that the zip of the dress was only done up part way, a deep “V” of pale skin still visible between Robin’s shoulder blades. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady as he moved into the room, not trusting himself to speak. It seemed like every detail of the scene had been set-up to test him: Robin at her most beautiful; some pretext for physical closeness- if this were one of his dreams he knew what would come next. Strike tried to clear these thoughts from his mind as he approached her.

The zip of the dress was slightly stiff at the point where Robin had left it, and he had to hold the fabric in place with one thumb as he tugged upwards. After that it glided easily up, closing the gap and pulling the whole garment into perfect place around Robin’s curves. The dress seemed to have been made for her. Strike allowed his fingers to brush lightly down her back after he completed his task, and she turned to him, smiling.

Automatically, Strike took a step back to take in the view. As he had suspected, Robin looked even better than he remembered; a goddess in green. The dress’s design was such that it clung exquisitely in certain places and skimmed gracefully over others, the overall effect being to accentuate and glorify Robin’s already very sexy figure. Strike became aware that his mouth was hanging open. Politely, Robin pretended not to notice.

‘You scrub up pretty well,’ she remarked, cheekily. ‘Hang on,’ she took a step towards him and he had to fight the urge to back further away. She was dangerous. He held still as she reached up to straighten his tie, which he’d made a bad job of tying himself. Their faces were very close together now. Strike noticed she was wearing a different perfume tonight, a heavier, more seductive scent than the delicate flowery one she usually wore to work. He held his breath until she stood back.

‘There, perfect.’

‘Thanks,’ Strike said gruffly, finding his voice at last. Then, feeling something was expected of him, he said ‘You look-‘he shook his head, and sighed. ‘You look incredible, Robin.’

She blushed and thanked him, then gave an ironic curtsey that made him laugh, breaking the tension that had formed between them.

‘Nice dress- is it new?’ Strike asked, frowning as though he had never seen it before.

‘Not exactly. It was a gift from my boss.’

‘Really? How inappropriate. He sounds like a bit of a creep.’

Robin gave a ringing laugh and smacked him playfully on the arm with the back of her hand. Strike merely grinned at her. He loved making her laugh.

Holding out his arm in mock-gallantry he said, ‘Shall we?’

‘I’ll just get my bag.’

‘Nah, you don’t want to lug that around tonight- we’ll come back for it. Besides,’ he added, smirking, ‘do you really think you’re gonna be paying for drinks while you’re dressed like that?’

‘Oh, shut up,’ replied a blushing Robin, but she took his arm graciously and allowed herself to be led out of the office and down the steps to the street below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like to diverge _too_ much from canon so I wanted to get something out before Lethal White. I've a feeling it could change everything! Anyway I've been busy so that's why Chapter 2 is a bit rough- I normally spend ages obsessing over editing!
> 
> I think this works well as a cute ending but may be willing to add an final chapter if people are interested and time allows! Thanks for reading x


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night at The Tottenham.

As soon as they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Robin regretted not putting on her coat. She dithered slightly at the door and Strike seemed to read her mind, wordlessly shrugging off his massive coat and swinging it around her shoulders.

‘Thanks.’

Although Robin was tall, the coat still swamped her and they both chuckled as she held out her arms to show the sleeves nearly covering her hands.

They turned off Denmark Street and walked down Charing Cross Road in companionable silence. As they waited to cross Oxford Street, Robin pulled the huge coat a little tighter, breathing in Strike’s familiar scent: stale smoke mingled with something musky and masculine. She smiled to herself and then glanced sideways at Strike, allowing herself a moment to appreciate his altered appearance. As though he sensed her looking, his eyes darted down to meet her gaze and she felt a swoop in her stomach. He managed a slightly sheepish grin before they both looked away awkwardly, Robin shaking one hand free of an oversized sleeve to smooth down a flyaway strand of hair. Once again, the atmosphere had changed between them.

It was turning into a strange evening. Robin knew she had set something in motion by suggesting that Strike take her out for a drink in her green dress. They were usually so comfortable together, but now something had shifted and they seemed unable to maintain their usual camaraderie in the face of this so-far unprecedented situation. Along with the shyness though, was something like excitement. She was not quite sure whether or not this was a date, but it certainly felt like one. He did look good in that suit. She could feel a smile tugging at her lips again as they reached the doors of The Tottenham.

The pub was fairly crowded as usual, but the waft of warm air that greeted them as they stepped inside was pleasant, and the light reflecting off the bar’s brass finishings gave the small room a welcoming glow. Strike entered just behind Robin and, without waiting to be asked, reached both hands around her and slid his coat off her shoulders.

As she and her dress were revealed, it seemed to Robin that- just for a second- the chatter in the room faltered a little. A few heads certainly turned her way. Perhaps more than a few. She felt a little giddy at the idea, but told herself she was imagining it.

‘They’re all wondering what the hell you’re doing with me,’ said Strike’s voice softly in her ear. He was close enough that she felt his breath on her neck. Robin turned to look at him, expecting one of his playful smirks, but she was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. More boldly than she felt, she reached out and took his hand. She just had time to register his astonished expression before she turned back and headed to an empty spot by the bar, pulling him gently behind her.

‘They’re probably thinking I’m ridiculously overdressed.’ She muttered, dropping his hand and reaching for a drinks menu. Despite the early hour, she thought she ought to order a fancy drink to match her outfit.

‘Well, this _was_ your idea,’ Strike pointed out. ‘I think the trick is to make them feel like they’re underdressed. It’s all about poise, isn’t it?’ He winked at her. The smirk was back.

‘Well I wouldn’t know about that, would I?’

‘Don’t fish.’

Robin opened her mouth to retort but, at that moment, the bartender appeared and Strike loudly ordered two Old Fashioneds before she could say anything.

‘I don’t really like whisky.’

‘You’ll like this.’

They carried their drinks to the back of the room, where a table under an ornate mirror was just being vacated by a pair of smartly dressed white men, who both allowed their eyes to linger on Robin as she approached. They hastened their exit though as they spotted Strike looming behind her, his height and bulk rendering him menacing without any effort on his part.

Robin took a sip of her cocktail and hummed appreciatively. It was a delicious mix of smoky whisky and sharp bitters, tempered with an underlying sweetness. Her mind presented her with half-formed thoughts connecting the taste of the drink with the man sitting opposite her, which she batted away before they could take hold. He was watching her.

‘You’re right- very nice,’ she said, tipping her glass in deference to his good taste. ‘I’m surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink anything that wasn’t tea or Doom Bar.’

‘I have been known to deviate,’ he replied, ‘if it’s a special occasion.’

She laughed. ‘ _Is_ this a special occasion?’

‘Well, it must be or we wouldn’t be all dressed up, would we?’

Robin laughed again but she was not quite satisfied with his answer. She was hoping he would qualify the situation she had got them into. Was it a date or not?

They had fun for the next half-hour, making up reasons why two such sharply dressed people might be out for cocktails in a tiny pub on Oxford Street at half past five on a Friday afternoon. By the time their glasses were empty they were both feeling hungry but were having too much fun to call it a night. Further enjoyment was derived from the idea of Robin devouring a pub burger and chips while dressed like- in Strike’s words- “a supermodel.”

Robin could feel herself blushing but, trying for a bit of poise, said: ‘I was thinking more Bond girl, actually.’

‘Villain, more like,’ Strike replied, flashing her a smirk over his shoulder as he made his way to the bar to place their orders.

Under the influence of alcohol and good food, Strike and Robin relaxed back into their usual comfortable rhythm: circular conversations about ongoing cases, “who solved what” banter about old ones, and, as the evening wore on, surreptitious discussions about their fellow patrons. Strike generally encouraged people-watching as practice for Robin, but tonight their theories became increasingly wild and unlikely as they took it in turns to declare various customers to be spies, serial killers, and incognito celebrities. Robin was still giggling when they stepped out onto the street hours later.

****

‘How many have you had?’ Strike asked, amused, helping her into his coat again. The sky was dark now and it was noticeably cooler than before.

‘As many as you!’ She hugged herself, nestling into his coat and making a small sound of satisfaction as they turned their feet back towards Denmark Street. ‘Thanks, by the way, for the drinks and everything.’

‘Not a problem, I’ll just dock it out of your wages,’ he joked. She elbowed him in the ribs and he nudged her back, catching her around the waist and she wobbled on her heels and nearly lost her balance.

‘Shit, sorry Robin.’

‘It’s alright,’ she said, gently, leaning against him as the lights changed and they crossed Oxford Street. He kept his arm around her as they made their way down Charing Cross Road. When they reached the door leading up to their office, Strike moved his hand carefully from Robin’s waist into his outer pocket to fish for the keys. He could feel the curve of her hip through the lining of his coat.

 ‘Was this a date?’ she asked, suddenly.

Strike frowned to himself in the darkness. He had been wondering the same thing himself, but whatever was happening between them felt so fragile, he was afraid addressing it might frighten it away, spoiling the magic of the evening. Robin had had just enough to drink to feel bold enough to ask the question, but not nearly enough to mean she would forget the conversation in the morning. There was no getting around it.

After a significant pause, Strike sighed and gave his answer. ‘Yeah, I think so,’ he said quietly, addressing the keyhole into which, he realised, he was trying to fit the wrong key.

He finally succeeded in unlocking the door and held it open for Robin, who said nothing but allowed her body to brush briefly against his as she crossed the threshold. Feeling a little dazed, Strike watched her ascend the first few steps before following. As he made his way up behind her, she removed the heavy coat and folded it over her arm, once again revealing her dazzling green-clad figure. Strike, a few steps behind and below, felt this was somewhat unfair.

She waited for him at the top of the stairs, a strange smile playing around her mouth. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek as she pressed the borrowed coat into his arms.

‘Yeah it was…great,’ he managed to say over the buzzing in his ears. He moved to unlock the office door but Robin started up the steps that led to his attic flat. ‘Robin, what’re you…?’

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in for a coffee?’ There was something incredibly suggestive about the way she said it. He gaped at her. She stood one step above him, a vision of sexiness in her clinging green dress, one eyebrow arched expectantly.

‘I…haven’t got any coffee,’ he said, stupidly. Heat was spreading through his body, swamping his brain. There was a mischievous twinkle in Robin’s eyes he had only seen once or twice before: it was the look she usually gave him when she knew something he didn’t.

‘Never mind.’ Robin placed her hands on his shoulders, leaned down, and kissed him. After the initial shock, instinct took over and Strike dropped his coat, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her against him as he returned the kiss with gusto. A small groan escaped him as he felt Robin’s hands slide to the back of his neck and into his hair as she kissed him harder, her tongue sliding against his lower lip.

He pulled away; breathless; and Robin leaned her forehead against his.

‘Bloody hell. This dress was worth every penny.’ He slid his hands appreciatively over the fabric, pulling her even closer so she was in danger of toppling off the step into his arms.

‘Mm-hmm,’ she agreed, grinning and gently loosening his grip, ‘I’ll probably need your help with the zip again, though.’ She turned and headed up the stairs to Strike’s flat, her hips swaying enticingly.

Strike swore under his breath, bit his lip, and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickly finished this off ahead of LETHAL WHITE COMING OUT NEXT WEEK! Not really happy with it but I'm all out of free time so this will have to do. Hope it brings the story to a satisfying close for you all :)


End file.
